


Hope Remains

by Onity



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Death, Gen, Hell, Oneshot?, Reflection, Rescue, SHADOWLANDS SPOILERS, The Maw, Torture, Undeath, hunger, written in 8.3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25170448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onity/pseuds/Onity
Summary: When Varian awoke after death, he found the afterlife to be not what he expected. But he was not alone. Thousands of seemingly innocent souls, all trapped within a land that could only be called hell. His job as king was not over, and with his guidance, the Undeserving would one day find hope in a land of darkness. For Varian, that hope came in the form of his only son.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	Hope Remains

-...-

The only reliable source of news from the living came from those souls fished from the River of Souls. If, by chance, they had come from Azeroth, and their memories clear, then Varian Wrynn could piece together what was happening back home. 

In the beginning, souls from Azeroth were not as easy to find, and those who were from Azeroth all spoke of the same things. That Azeroth was at war with the Burning Legion, something Varian already knew. They spoke of thing’s he could assume, such as Anduin taking his place as king, or of Azeroth’s factions coming together to protect their planet. Sometimes, they spoke of things he hadn’t expected, such as Sylvanas becoming Warcheif, and Argus appearing in the sky as if she were Elune.

He’d eventually given up personally trying to fish from the river, yet by then, he’d found enough Azerothian kin to not feel so alone anymore. 

See, Varian awoke from his death to find himself in what could only be described as Hell. Apparently, it was called the Maw, the land of those who deserved pain, who deserved to live forever in death with nothing but survival on their mind. It sounded to him like a place that only evil deserved, and souls who had lived there long before him claimed that that was its original purpose. That death was broken, and that souls who did not deserve to rot in Hell were appearing there anyway. Where they had heard these claims was unknown, but Varian took comfort in them. 

Something broken could be fixed, right?

He’d been unable to find any signs of his family, of his father, or of his wife, here in this afterlife. He’d hoped to find familiar faces, even in all this dirt and metal, and yet there were only people who were as new to death as he was. He’d found them, and in a cloud of confusion, they found comfort in each other. 

Hell was filling with souls who were undeserving of their fate. Souls who needed guidance in a land where metal beasts hunted them down, where capture lead to an eternity of turture. 

Varian Wrynn knew how to guide people. It was what he did best back in life. 

He’d thought of death as freedom, that in the afterlife he could retire from the chains of the monarchy, he could rest in peace for eternity with his family, with Tiffin, and that he’d one day see his son again, when he passed. 

He did not expect to continue wearing a crown, continue wielding a sword, and continue leading people through war. 

In order to protect themselves against the metal foe, he and the souls of the undeserving formed a rebellious faction, the first of it’s kind in all of the Maw’s existence. The Kingdom of the Undeserving, lead by King Varian Wrynn, took control of land far from the nests of the metal beasts, built a home, a fort, which would protect those souls who knew not how to fight, souls with no defense. An army would form of those who could, those who could swing a stolen metal axe or sword, or, should their soul be lucky, one who could manipulate anima. 

They did not need to eat or sleep within the afterlife, within Hell, but they did require anima. A powerful source that left things running. Varian couldn’t really explain how it did that , but he knew that he didn’t need to understand how as long as he knew it was important. 

There was little known about time, and how time worked within the Maw, and while Varian had wanted to know, he learned eventually it didn’t matter. The only way he could judge the passage of time was from the stories of the souls fished from the river, and how long ago Varian had died back on Azeroth. 

If he were to guess, it currently has been at least two years. Though, he didn’t feel like two years had passed within Hell, and it was likely their timelines did not match. 

“King Wrynn.”

A voice broke Varian’s thoughts, and he looked up to find a troll woman covered in pointy metal armor appearing at his doorway. She held a long spear in one hand, one that looked identical to her armor, as it did to his armor, and the armor his entire kingdom wore. All armor stolen from the metal beasts. 

With her, a new soul. 

Varian nodded, motioning for them to enter the small office like room. It wasn’t an office, he had no paperwork in death, thankfully, but it was a room he could escape the eyes of others. It worked like an office in that regard. 

Stepping in, the two stood before him. Varian took a look at the soul, a young sin’dorei. She looked wide eyed, though most Azerothian souls looked that way upon seeing him. She shook, her armor, what remained of it, giving off that she’d been a high ranking Horde soldier. Varian saw the echos of the wound that had killed her, a darkness stained on her side. 

“Please,” He spoke, in a voice he hoped didn’t sound too demanding. “Tell me how you died.” 

The elf was hesitant, though mostly because she was still confused, still frightened of her situation. After the troll placed a hand upon her shoulder, the elf spoke. 

“I-it was h-her.” The elf struggled to find words. “I only saw...saw her for a moment, but she...she…”

Varian only had questions, but waited for the elf to continue. 

The elf took a deep breath inward, calming herself, before letting it all go.

“I was stationed to aid Highmountain, then placed alongside Baine Bloodhoof who was there as well. We were leaving. Meant to take a portal into Orgrimmar, to attend a meeting alongside the other leaders.” The elf paused. “But then we were attacked by Sylvanas.”

She glanced around the room nervously. 

“She….she got me. I remember seeing her capture Bloodhoof before...before succumbing to my wounds.” The elf then glanced up to the king. “That’s all I remember.”

Varian frowned. 

So far, he knew just about everything that had happened since his death, including Azeroth winning the war against the Burning Legion. He heard the stories of those who died at the meeting his son had orchestrated alongside Sylvanas. He had heard the stories of those who died defending Darkshore, and then heard the stories of the thousands of Kal’dorei souls who had perished within Teldrassil. He heard the stories of those who died at war, who died against Azshara, and who died against N’zoth. 

He knew that war had sparked again between Horde and Alliance, despite the dreams of his son, despite all that they had gone through with Garrosh. Varian didn’t understand much of it, including why Vol’jin would name Sylvanas Warcheif, yet there had been no sign of Vol’jin in Hell, so he’d never been able to ask. He knew that war had come to an end, especially upon the arrival of the soul of Saurfang, who recounted the entire tale to Varian. (He thought it funny how the orc had died wielding Shala’tor and Ellamayne.) He knew that something was amiss, how the banshee could just one-shot him, the powerful warrior he was.  
He briefly thought back to the last time he’d seen her personally, working together on the Broken Shore. What she had said to him. It was simple. He had thanked her for her help, and she had wished him good luck, to which he returned the sentiment. This was just before they faced Gul’dan, and just before he’d fall. 

“Do you know why?” He asked the elf. 

The elf shook her head. “No. She didn’t say anything.”

So Baine Bloodhoof was kidnapped by Sylvanas, and that was the only new piece of news he’d get at this moment.

He looked to the troll. 

“Please, fill her in on what’s happening here.” He sighed, looking to the elf. “Should you recover, our army is always in need of champions like you.”

And then they left, leaving him alone again. 

-...-

“Varok.”

The orc, hunched over a pile of metal weapons, sharpening them, stopped what he was doing slowly, signifying to the king that he heard.

“You up for another mission?” Varian asked, already knowing the answer. 

The orc grunted, laying the axe he held to the side and standing up. He turned to face the human, who waited only for his reply. 

“How far do you aim to go this time?” He asked.

“The top.”

With that, Saurfang nodded, turning to prepare his metal armor and weapons. 

“Meet us outside when you’re ready.”

Varian left the orc to continue gathering the soldiers he needed to invade Torghast. Torghast was a tower that trapped souls in eternal torment, just as everywhere did, but this place was the heart of the metal beasts’ operations. At least, Varian was sure. Souls trapped there usually were trapped to be harvested for anima, and it was one of the best places to both free innocent souls as well as steal what anima reserves the metal beasts had. So, Varian made sure to continuously invade it, each time the beasts getting more predictable, each time getting a little farther, gaining more souls, more anima. 

This time, he was sure, they could reach the top floor. 

“Where do you think you’re going, Wrynn?”

Varian instantly groaned, stopping in his tracks. A sige of anger flooded his soul temporarily before fading. He took a few breaths to ease himself before turning to face that who addressed him.

“Garrosh.”

Varian spoke the name with vile, his feelings of the orc unchanged since they’d last met in life. There was one thing Varian knew for certain was proof this was hell, and it was that Garrosh Hellscream was here, following him around, tormenting him. 

Somehow, Garrosh had also ended up here in the Maw, and while the orc didn’t believe himself worthy of such a fate, Varian disagreed. He believed Garrosh was one of the deserving, not undeserving. That said, the saying “the enemy of my enemy is a friend” wasn’t true here, for both of them hated the metal beasts more so then each other. And, while he’d never admit it, Garrosh was a powerful warrior, and the Undeserving were outnumbered and needed all that would aid them. 

“Raiding the tower again?” Garrosh asked, knowing the answer. 

“If you plan on joining, I suggest not talking to me anymore.” Varian felt that he was getting a headache just looking at him. 

Garrosh smirked, gripping in his hand a stolen metal axe, one of the bigger heavier designs. He took pride in the fact he had no need to say anything anyway, him just being here made the human angry. Varian had seemed to find a way to forgive everyone else who’d crossed him and appeared before him in the afterlife, at least to some degree, and it was clear that his son’s dreams had washed off on him. To Garrosh, that made Varian weak, but as long as the human could take down a few metal beasts, he’d go along with whatever game he seemed to be playing. 

Varian returned to gathering his soldiers into a raid, and with Saurfang’s arrival from the weapons chamber, the raid was ready. They did not need to eat, did not need sleep, so there was no reason to wait anymore. Leaving the compound, Varian lead the raid across deserted lands, picking up a few wondering souls along the way, taking down packs of metal beasts as well. 

Reaching the tower took a long time, for it was defended well, yet this was nothing new to the party. They took down it’s outer defense, breaching it’s first floor, and slowly, slowly, made their way higher. 

Varian and Saurfang placed importance on freeing caged souls, Garrosh destroying any source of harvested anima he came across, collecting the anima to return to the compound. Over time, the raid grew stronger, both in numbers and in strength drawn from anima. 

Soon, they came upon the last of the upper floors of the tower. 

And, it was not like before. 

“This doesn’t feel right.” Saurfang frowned, the same sense of worry shared between most of the raid. 

Varian agreed. The last of the floors were quiet. Empty, save for a few metal rats. And, as they went further, they could sense a source of anima power that was far more concentrated, far more glowing, then all that they had gathered. 

“It’s nothing but another one of their giant beasts.” Garrosh didn’t seem as cautious as everyone else. He wanted to push onwards. He looked to Varian “What else would you have at the top of the tower other than a raid boss?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Varian replied, continuing onwards. “But we’ll find out.”

They climbed the tower more, the silence growing, yet the echo of anima overpowering all senses. As they approached the top of the tower, they paused. Varian usually wasn’t nervous, but the waves of anima was radiated out of the last floor were beyond any levels he’d seen before, and if it was really a boss, they might not actually be prepared for it. 

“Scared?” Garrosh asked him. 

Before he could say anything, the raid froze to the sound of a distant scream. 

It echoed like a banshee’s, spread fear within them like that of a priests’ spell, and caused larger bursts of anima to make the tower rumble.

There was something oddly familiar, too, but there was nothing giving away why.

As they came to the last door, Varian halted the raid. 

“Ugh,” Garrosh growled. “You continue to hesitate.”

“We may not be powerful enough to face a demon that holds such large amounts of anima.” Saurfang replied for Varian. 

Varian turned to the raid.

“Stay here, I will take a closer look. Should it be too much, I do not want it to engage us so quickly.”

The raid listened, however hesitantly, and Saurfang followed the king, along with Garrosh, who refused to continue to wait. The three made their way inside the last room, out of sight of the raid, facing whatever was to come. 

The scream was loud, and it’s owner was not a foul beast, but something that was in pain. From their point of view, the glow of the anima was blocking much information. However, what they could tell, was that the room was giant. To both sides of the room were large, hulking metal beasts, the size of castles, with weapons to match. In the middle was a much smaller figure, that of an elf, facing away from them, towards the center of the anima glow. 

To avoid being seen, they hid behind containers of stored anima. 

“They’ve abandoned you here,” the voice of Sylvanas was clear, “that champion of yours.”

Sylvanas, in her armor that matched that of the metal beasts too, stood before the being admitting anima, holding their chin with her claws in mockery. 

A deep, almost animalistic growl erupted from the being’s throat, teeth showing as if they were the lion’s fangs. 

“All three, rescued, and yet…” Sylvanas continued with a grin. “That champion has not returned...in weeks.”

Sylvanas gripped the being’s face, her eyes glowing, and the being screaming in pain again. The anima reacted violently, as it was drawn from the being, and harvested by the banshee. The being pulled against his chains, blood dripping onto the floor below, arms shaking. Sylvanas would then suddenly stop, letting the being drop from her grasp in exhaustion. The waves of anima became less powerful, more distant, and the three could see beyond Sylvanas much easier. 

“It seems that you have given up as well.” Sylvanas spoke. 

Suddenly a burst of anima echoed across the room, one not drawn from purposely.

“NO!”

The being screamed not in pain but in anger, rage, and sorrow. Chains rattled as the being attempted to reach forward, to attack the banshee, but all attempts were fruitless. His waves of anima could knock her back, but they did nothing more to her. 

He said something, something of anger, something that made her frown for a moment. Made her remember something from the recent past.

“Hope remains!” 

The being’s voice was weak, his throat numb, and his power dwindling. 

“You test me.” Sylvanas growled, twitching. “Life is pain! Hope dies with it!”

She reached her hand out again, drawing more anima, whatever was left from him at this moment. 

“You will understand!”

The screams were weaker, quieter, and eventually, they stopped, the being falling to unconsciousness above a growing pool of red. 

Sylvanas stood there, looking upon the being with disappointment. 

“The living are too fragile.” She complained to no one but the body before her.

She then disappeared into a cloud of black smoke, leaving the tortured being within the sights of the three raiders. 

“What is she planning?” Saurfang was first to make his way from their hiding place. 

“UHM-Isn’t that your whelp, Wrynn?” Garrosh squinted, looking across the room to the motionless body, the torn and grey leather stained with red, only a few pieces of plate remaining from what appeared to once be a full set. Atop all that, a head of blond hair, dirty and unwashed for a considerable amount of time. 

Varian looked out, walking across the room, his eyes locked upon the man hanging from chains. The lions upon the plate armor, the pale skin dirtied with blood, the long blond hair. It looked like his son, but there was no way it could’ve been, not here, in Hell. Varian walked closer, holding his breath, both unsure if he actually wanted to see his son again if it meant he was here, or if he wanted to be selfish. 

He was stopped, suddenly, as the room rumbled, and the two giant metal beasts came to life, noticing all three of the room’s intruders. They came to life, taking stance, and ready to keep the king from getting any closer. 

“We can’t take them!” Saurfang growled. “We’ll need to retreat.”

“Retreat?!” Garrosh almost laughed. Like Varian would call a retreat now.

“Varian!” Saurfang yelled, as the two beasts stepped closer. 

Varian knew that even if the raid, there was nothing they could do to these beasts. He held his sword tightly, heart pounding, glancing back and forth between the beasts and what could be his son. 

Suddenly, Varian broke out into a sprint, towards the chained man, turning is full attention to him. He stood before him, reaching out to get a better lose. 

“VARAIN!!”

It was him. 

It was Anduin. 

Varian could cry, gazing into his son’s broken face. His hand gently touched Anduin’s face, unsure if what he saw was real. Upon placing his hand against him, he could feel the anima from within him, an echo of it giving Varian strength. 

The room rumbled as the beasts cornered the four of them, Saurfang and Garrosh inching closer with their eyes upon the massive beasts. 

“Anduin.” Varian spoke, his voice cracking. 

Varian took a deep breath, touching his forehead to Anduin’s, the younger human’s skin far too warm to be death, yet far too cold to be safe for a living being. 

He glanced down, at the pool of blood. 

The dead, no matter their injuries, did not bleed. Blood was not something his body, nor Garrosh or Saurfang’s, created. 

Blood was a sign of life. 

Varian stepped away, looking at his son, whom was alive, yet still a prisoner to the Maw. How, He had no idea, but if he was to find out, they would need to live. 

He turned around to looked upon the two hulking beasts, readying his weapon, standing beside the two taller orcs.

“You’ve doomed us.” Saurfang commented, the two beasts blocking them from their only escape. 

“Was your whelp worth this?” Garrosh hissed. 

Yes. 

He was worth any sacrifice, no matter how selfish. 

The room rumbled again with each step the beasts took, holding their weapons ready. As they got close enough, they held their weapons high, ready to bring them down upon their intruders, to take out the unruly souls. 

Behind them, Anduin groaned in pain, coming to, his eyes dull, his gaze weak, and yet quickly able to determine the situation.

Before him, monsters, whom planned to stop his rescuers. 

Anduin had learned, over the course of months, that he was a source of anima in this land, and that he could use it as a weapon, just as he’d used the light and shadow. 

These beasts were nothing scary to him. Not when it was anima that they ran on, and it was their supply he controlled. 

The room rumbled more when he focused all of his draining energy into a wave of anima, his eyes glowing temporarily, his head throbbing, bones aching, and his anger focused upon the beasts. 

With a psychic scream, the anima blasted out, past the three rescuers, ramming into the metal beasts, overloading them. They shook, their heart of power combusting into nothing, and all the metal that made them fell to the floor. The three had to dodge out of the way, one of the weapons falling towards them, crashing down upon the chains that kept Anduin Wrynn a prisoner. 

“Anduin!”

Varian ran over, dropping his weapon, as anduin dropped into the pool below him, his arms and shoulder sore. Varian knelt down in front of him, holding his shoulders in his hands. 

“Father…”

When Anduin looked up, Varian could see a very changed man. He was tired, drained, exhausted, weak. HIs eyes struggled to remain open, his voice but a whisper. He could see red in his eyes, the stains of tears on his cheeks, and blood dripping from his teeth. He was bruised, his nose looked broken, and that was only his face. 

Anduin closed his eyes, though he did not lose his consciousness. He let out exhausted breaths, the energy he used to save them the only energy he had. He would soon fall to darkness again, had they not careful. 

Varian had a long time to think of all the things he’d say to his son upon seeing him again, yet at this moment nothing came to his mind. His first idea was to ask how he felt, but it was clear the answer to that. 

“Father…”

Whatever he could have said, Anduin was beating him to it. He opened his eyes slightly again, yet did not look up at his father. 

“So much has happened since you left.” He said, Varian seeing his son’s eyes grow glossy. 

Varian pulled him into a hug, careful not to apply too much force. 

“I know. I know.”

Garrosh and Saurfang walked over, watching as the father comforted his son. 

“Sylvanas…” Anduin continued. “She...she kidnapped….me...and Jaina..n thrall...nbaine.”

“And apparently they’ve escaped without you.” Garrosh commented, recalling what Sylvanas said. 

“Mhm...did…” Anduin blinked slowly a few times, going quiet. “I’ve tried…..alot...to leave. Tyrandes here too...somewhere.”

“The amount of anima you radiate.” Saurfang frowned. “She brought you here to harvest it from you.”

“Mm...don’t know...why.” Anduin yawned, digging his head into his father’s shoulder. 

“Might have something to do with taking down those damned beasts.” Garrosh looked back to the metal covering the floor. “If you can do that near dead, I wonder what happens when you’re not.” 

Varian pulled back, only to look at his son again, gaining Anduin’s attention.

“How do you feel?”

Anduin did not reply straight away, Anduin’s eyes not moving from meeting his father’s look. 

“Donno….” He said. “...m hungry…”

Anduin was more than just hungry, but the point of the question was to assess what he thought was most important to tend to. He was light headed, sleepy, sore, bleeding, etc etc. But he was also hungry, and skinny, and-

“Varian, we don’t have food here.” Saurfang spoke, a hint of worry in his voice. Saurfang cared for Anduin, enjoyed the young king’s company before he died, and did not like the idea of him dying here. 

This was very concerning. If Anduin was alive, he still needed to eat and sleep, unlike every other soul here. In a land where no one needed to eat, it was unlikely they would be able to find anything properly edible. 

They had no connection to the outside world, while Sylvanas did, and despite all the torture, she as able to feed him. 

But Varain was not going to let that vile woman another chance to hurt his son. 

Varian would find something. Something.

“He could eat dirt.”

Varian and Saurfang glared at Garrosh, who shrugged. 

“Look, your little king won't be getting a royal feast here, but-”

“Shut up!” Varian growled. He turned back to his son, watching as he slowly began to pass out again. He started working at the chains that still bound his wrists, setting him free from the metal that held him back. “We’ll figure something out. For now, we need to leave before Sylvanas returns.” 

Varian stood, picking up his son, holding him in his arms. Even out cold, Varian could feel the anima pass through him.

Anduin would be a god send for the Undeserving, his source of anima one that could fule their goals into breaking free from the Maw. That said, he would need to live to be able to provide help, not starve to death.

Life was precious, and fragile, but just as determined and hopeful. Many expected those qualities to die out upon entering death, yet Varian found that to be untrue. 

Life was bleeding into death’s domaine, and news no longer only came in from the River of Souls. 

As Varian sat before his sleeping son, back at home base, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, he thought about life. About the souls of the undeserving, who retained hope despite death, retained a determination to overcome what broken system seemed to doom them to hell. 

He thought of Sylvanas.

When you make life your enemy, that is a war you never win. 

You cannot kill hope.

Hope remains. 

-...-

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write something from Varian's POV for awhile, but after some...spoilers from the Maw quest line published on WoWhead today, i felt that my "What if" scenario seemed a little more possible. I don't know, we will see. Thank you for reading!


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